


Roger Daltrey’s Guide to Surviving Social Engagements

by acacia59



Series: The How-to Series on Threesomes [2]
Category: Led Zeppelin, The Who
Genre: M/M, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger really doesn’t like parties. And he definitely doesn’t like Robert Plant. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roger Daltrey’s Guide to Surviving Social Engagements

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to the drabble, "The Hair." I think that there is a plot in it somewhere if you squint. Hell, let’s be honest, there is no plot and it is hella _long,_ so that is something of an accomplishment.

 

 

Roger stood in the corner of the crowded room and sulked. He did not enjoy these parties, they were too noisy and hot, too many strangers he didn’t know getting drunk and nearly getting sick on him and too much rock star posturing. He would rather stay home or have a few mates over, instead of being challenged into a game of darts with someone he was pretty sure was the caterer and high enough to hit himself with a dart, let alone Roger.

 

Heather had convinced him to come out, saying that it would be fun, that Keith would be upset if they didn’t come and that she needed to get out and meet some new people. A load of bullshit, basically, as it was demonstrably not fun, Keith had no idea who was here and who wasn’t and Heather met new people all the time if the number of people she talked about who Roger didn’t know was any indication.

 

She was across the room, talking with Paul McCartney and Mick Jaggar and by all appearances having a great time. She had ditched him shortly after he had started to complain about the background music and hadn’t given him a second glance since. Roger craned his neck to better examine the crowd, trying to locate Keith and John, on the principle that if disaster was looming, it was best to be prepared. Amidst the random movements of the crowd, one curly, blond head was definitely headed towards him with purpose.

 

 _Oh God, it is Robert bloody Plant coming this way._ Roger groaned. He hated talking to the man, he made Roger feel unaccountably nervous. He was so loud and brash, he seemed to ooze an almost feminine sexuality that made Roger stammer and break into a cold sweat, he was so confident and most of all, he was just so _tall._ In the face of their other physical similarities, it was the height that nagged at Roger the most.

 

And he _writes_. Never mind that his lyrics were mostly trite and childish in Roger’s opinion and his method of  expression seemed limited to having an orgasm over the pleasure of singing his own words, that was still what people would remember. Robert Plant, the singer-songwriter, that unbelievable wanker. Roger was unaware that a deep scowl had crept over his face during his musings and he was clutching his pint tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

 

“Well, you certainly look like you are having a good time,” the other singer drawled as he sauntered up next to Roger. _Bloody hell, does that man ever just fucking walk? He is always slinking, or stalking or, God help us,_ prancing.

 

“Yeah, well, this sort of thing isn’t exactly my cup of tea,” he replied, brusquely, wincing inwardly as the harsh sound of a London working class stiff reached his ears. Normally, he didn’t dwell on it or wore it as a badge of pride but Robert’s lilting accent was making him self-conscience. The sound of his voice brought to mind old myths and smoke and fire from the depths of the mines while Roger couldn’t imagine that he conjured up any images other than a bunch of yobs getting pissed and half-inching wallets.

 

Robert laughed and flipped his hair out of his face with one perfectly manicured hand. Roger’s scowl deepened.  “That’s your problem then. The secret is to drink lots of alcohol, not tea.”

 

“Hmmph. I drove that one here.” Roger nodded to where Pete was currently ensconced with Eric Clapton, both of them seemingly determined in the face of all obstacles to turn a table of full liquor bottles into a table of empty liquor bottles before the night was out.

 

Robert’s eye’s crinkled but the smile never quite touched his lips. He leaned closer to Roger. The shorter man was suddenly, irrevocably enveloped in his scent, tobacco and cedar and something spicy and citrusy. _Jesus. I sure as hell don’t smell like goddamn citrus_. “Maybe Pete has the right idea of it.”

 

“Believe me, Pete _never_ has the right idea of it.” Roger made the mistake of looking up at the other man. He had crossed one hand over his body and rested it on his cocked hip, propping up his other elbow. His free hand was held like someone holding a martini glass. _Or a terribly poufy rock star._ As he looked in aghast amazement at the posturing visage in front of him, Roger saw a familiar messy brown head being lifted and turned their way out of the corner of his eye. He dragged his eyes away from the Led Zeppelin frontman and saw Pete struggling to focus on the pair and then he took a couple of unsteady steps in their direction.

 

“Oh, God,” he muttered.

 

“What was that, dear?” Robert laughed as Roger winced and then he broke into a full, lopsided grin as he saw who was approaching. “Pete! We were just talking about you. I wanted to ask you how you put up with your killjoy bandmate here…”

 

Pete had not left the comforts of his booze table and the pleasures of Eric’s company for mere idle pleasantries. He jabbed one finger into Robert’s chest and got up in his face. “I am not letting you try to steal my songer…, umm, my band pal…pieces of my band again, do you hear me?”

 

Robert stared at Pete in bemused bewilderment as Roger buried his head in his hands and moaned. He loved the guitarist, sure, but sometimes he really wanted to strangle him. He got between Pete and Robert and gently pushed him back a little. “No, Pete. It was Jimmy Page who tried to steal Keith, well, not really steal, _per se,_ it was really Keith who tried to leave. Aw, hell, let’s be honest, they were probably both high off their arses and who knows what they really meant to do.”

 

Pete seemed to take this explanation in stride but then he cocked his head to the side and said, “Then why is he trying to steal you now?”

 

“For heaven’s sake…Pete, this is Robert his high and mighty Plant,” Roger burst out exasperated, speaking slowly as if to a child. “Why on earth would he try and steal me? We are both singers…” Roger trailed off, suddenly cognizant of both how inane their back and forth would appear to an outsider and the fact that Robert’s hand was now resting on Roger’s back. _No, make that the small of my back._ “Umm,” he gulped and felt his face go red.

 

“Isn’t he just adorable when he’s nervous?” Robert commented to Pete over his head.

 

Pete seemed to finally focus on the two blonds in front of him. He looked Robert up and down, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the arm disappearing behind Roger. Roger could practically feel the smirk radiating off of Robert when Pete’s lips parted in a small “Oh,” of surprise.

 

“I don’t want to steal him, Pete,” Robert murmured and his voice thrummed in Roger’s chest. “Just…share him, more like.”

 

If Roger thought his face was red before, now he could painfully feel the heat rising off his cheeks as more blood rushed to his skin. He didn’t dare look at Pete, because with the other man’s inhibitions lowered by alcohol, he was certain what he would find there. The worst part was that he was still wrapped in Robert’s goddamn _smell_ and he felt something stirring that he was trying hard not to acknowledge and were these trousers always this small?

 

Roger wasn’t completely innocent about these things. It had been ’63, they had been young and slightly sloshed or stoned, the details were a bit hazy. Pete’s roommate was out. An accidental touch had turned into a more intentional touch and then some graceless, fumbling snogging. One of them had said, “Fuck me now,” or maybe it was, “Oh, God, I want to fuck you.” That word had been said, Roger was certain. Pete had called his name as he came, buried balls deep in Roger, and forgot to return the favor. Roger fisted himself to completion, feeling dizzy from the drink or the illicit clumsiness of it all, he wasn’t sure.

 

Roger could still vividly remember the look on Pete’s face when he had pulled away from the post-coital embrace and straightened his hurriedly half-removed clothes. “Look, Pete,” he had said, roughly. “That wasn’t a…thing, or anything. I mean, I’m not queer.”

 

Pete’s expression had instantly shuttered, a coldness filling his blue eyes. He had turned his back on the other man and said, “Sure, whatever, Rog. I didn’t think it was anything anyway.”

 

Looking up at the hungry expression on Pete’s face now, Roger began to doubt that statement.   Things hadn’t been the same after that, after all. Pete had spent more time writing alone and more time picking stupid fights. Less time talking honestly with Roger.

 

Pete’s eyes flicked away from Roger and to the man behind him. His mouth opened and closed and then he stuck his chin in the air and looked down his nose at Robert. “I think,” he declared, slurring only slightly. “That sharing is a very important life lesson.”

 

Roger gaped at Pete. He couldn’t believe the other man was bold enough to do this. He couldn’t believe it didn’t appear that the two taller men were going to let him have a say in the matter. He caught the guitarist’s eyes, trying to silently plead with him. Robert had by this time moved closer to Roger. It was a wonder they weren’t drawing more stares, Robert had his hands on Roger’s hips and a very suspicious hardness was pressing into his back. Pete was looking back at him, his eyes wide. Pete could not make puppy dog eyes at someone the way Keith could, Roger thought, a bit panicky. But there was something strangely compelling in those deep blue eyes, his cupid’s bow lips parted very slightly. Roger slowly licked his own lips, the uneasy tightness growing in his trousers. _Damn,_ he thought, _I think I am well and truly fucked here._ He cringed at the double entendre.

 

“How about it, Dip?” Pete whispered and Roger felt the other frontman’s chuckle more than heard it.

 

“Pete, you know I hate that fucking nickname,” he sighed, grateful for the diffusion of the tension between them that was beginning to become unbearable.

 

“Sorry,” Pete said, ducking his head and grinning up at Roger.

 

“What about Heather? I can’t just run off and leave her here.” He felt Robert straighten up behind him, eager to rejoin the conversation.

 

“Ah, don’t worry about that, Jimmy will take care of her,” Robert said, perkily, nodding to where Jimmy Page did indeed have his girlfriend cornered and watching him hypnotized like one watches a snake.

 

Roger scowled at the pair. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he returned, darkly.

 

Robert’s laughter pealed out. “Oh, Jimmy is a perfect gentleman.” The blond frowned and seemed to reconsider, “Well, most of the time. Well…hardly ever, really. But for you, Roger, the world!”

 

Pete was getting impatient with the exchange. He tugged on Roger’s arm, lost his balance slightly, but caught himself quickly. “Come on, I know where we won’t be disturbed.”

 

They left the main room and headed down a darkened corridor, Pete pulling a stumbling Roger behind him, who was hampered by having Robert writhing against him, biting his neck and moaning into his ear. _I can’t bloody believe I am being half-molested by Robert Plant right now._ He wanted to shove the two of them away, shout that it was all insane and go home, but even he had to admit that Robert’s moans were quite compelling.

 

The three of them practically tumbled into a guest bedroom, Robert giggling as he crashed into Pete. A guest bedroom that was currently occupied by a naked redhead who was giggling much harder than Robert and a dazed looking pretty blond man who looked vaguely familiar.

 

Pete was not amused. “Who the fuck are you?”

 

Robert collapsed into helpless laughter. “Who?!” he shouted.

 

The man stopped gaping for long enough to blurt out, “I’m from Sm…”

 

“You know what?” Pete interrupted. “I don’t care. Just get out.” He pointed firmly at the door. The couple grabbed a few sheets and scampered.

 

Pete took a deep breath and turned to Roger. “Now. Where were we?”

 

“We were right here,” Robert crooned softly and pushed Roger from behind until he was once again trapped between the two men. Pete tilted his chin up with one finger and, inhaling slightly, seized Roger’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss. Roger struggled to stay standing as Robert slowly licked around the curve of one ear before nibbling gently on his earlobe. _Oh, God, since when did Pete become such a hell of a kisser? Ugh, bloody hell, what is Plant doing to my_ ear _?_

 

“Bed. Now.” Pete growled and the three stumbled to the disheveled bed, shedding various articles of clothing as they went.

 

Pete and Roger tumbled onto the bed, but Robert pulled away at the last second and was left standing, smirking down on them.

 

“Do you want to watch me strip?” he purred.

 

Pete’s lips parted as he watched the other man with lust hooded eyes. Roger’s eyes darted between the two, the air was thick with sexual tension and he found himself nodding in spite of himself. “God, yes,” Pete moaned.

 

Robert smiled, predatorily. He tossed his hair back and cocked one hip. Roger marveled at how he could project pure sex by barely moving. He felt a heat start to radiate off his skin and without his eyes ever leaving Robert, he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt.

 

Robert saw his hands move and instantly their gaze connected, Robert smiling even more mischievously. Robert mirrored Roger’s movements and languorously began to undo his own buttons. He slipped the shirt off and let it dangle for a moment from one fingertip before letting it fall to the floor.

 

The frontman smoothed his hands over his chest, following the contours of his slimly muscled body, humming to himself softly as he watched their eyes fixed on the movements of his hands. After an agonizingly long time, one of those hands slipped below the waistband of his jeans and the other fluidly undid the fly. Robert turned his back to the rapt pair on the bed and began to wriggle out of the skin tight jeans. Roger was not surprised at the other man’s lack of underwear, but he was a bit shocked at the wave of arousal that swept over him at the sight of his tight, definitively masculine ass. Robert posed for a moment, perfectly conscience that his audience was enjoying the show, then he toed off his shoes and stepped out of the jeans.

 

Roger inhaled sharply as the blond turned to face them, standing there completely nude without the slightest trace of self-consciousness. _He is beautiful and he fucking knows it. The prat._ Regardless, that beauty was still having an effect on Roger and he shifted himself uncomfortably in his trousers.

 

Robert winked at the other singer and slunk towards Pete, straddling him and catching his mouth in a full and penetrating kiss. Roger removed his shirt entirely as he noted how well the two of them went together, matched almost perfectly for height and light and dark intertwining as they both attempted to deepen the kiss by pulling each other’s head closer by their hair.

 

By some act of magic or perhaps advanced contortionism, Robert managed to get most of Pete’s cloths off without breaking the kiss. Finally, they broke apart and Pete stared up at Robert with a dazed look in his eyes. “Ugh, I think that I really am rather drunk.”

 

Robert trilled with laughter. “Well, darling, at least you aren’t making up words anymore. And if you’re drunk and I’m stoned, then what is poor Roger’s excuse, hmm?” Robert flicked his twinkling eyes at Roger as anger and embarrassment flooded him. _The little prick._ A memory pushed heedlessly into his mind’s eye. _Well, perhaps not so little._

 

“Right then,” Roger said, harshly, pushing himself up off the bed. “I’ll just be off then.”

 

Robert caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “A joke, love.” He ran his fingertips down the length of Roger’s spine. Despite himself, Roger arched into the touch. “Lay down and I will make it worth your while.”

 

Pete came over and knelt in front of him, undoing his trousers with shaking hands. Roger sighed, but allowed himself to push against Pete’s touch. Between the two of them, he was undressed and pressed back into bed, Robert kissing trails of fire down his chest and Pete pushing himself against Roger from behind.

 

“Oh, you are just gorgeous….” Robert breathed against the flat of his stomach, eyelashes skittering along his skin.

 

Roger blushed deep red, feeling embarrassed for the emotion in the other singer’s voice. Robert noticed his blush and pulled away, looking at Pete with a quirked eyebrow and a sketched out smile.

 

“Our Roger is not used to being complimented. Must be rough to be in your band, Pete, to be so fucking devastating and yet so underappreciated.”

 

Pete snorted and continued rubbing himself against Roger’s arse. “He knows just how beautiful he is, believe me.”

 

“Ah,” Robert said softly, running his clever tongue up the length of Roger’s erection, causing him to gasp and thrust helplessly towards the quicksilver touch. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

 

Pete ran his tongue along Roger’s cleft, making him grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He placed a few nearly painful biting kisses where the curve of Roger’s ass met the small of his back and then swirled his tongue lower and deeper. Roger moaned with the pleasure of it, trying hard not to wantonly press back on Pete’s mouth.

 

Pete drew up until his lips were pressed to Roger’s ear. “If I kiss your ass enough, will it make you happy, you silly git? Anyway, I’m supposed to be the neurotic one.”

 

Robert chuckled deep in his chest and ran a clever hand up between Roger’s thighs. Pete continued to stroke his ass, one finger tantalizingly circling his entrance. Just as Roger was contemplating telling Pete to get on with it already, abruptly his touch disappeared. Before the singer could voice his complaints, he was distracted by Robert swallowing him whole.

 

“Oh, ungh…hell,” he choked out, gracelessly. Robert’s mouth was deliciously hot and wet and he was doing things with his tongue that Roger hadn’t know were possible or wise unless you wanted your intended victim coming immediately. He rested one hand gently on Robert’s head and then, unable to resist, buried his fingers in the mass of golden curls. He stared at the back of Robert’s head incredulously. It was like looking in a mirror. “Jesus Christ, this is weird,” he muttered. Robert’s laugh vibrated against his cock, making him even harder if possible.

 

Roger almost jumped off the bed as Pete’s fingers returned, this time deliciously slick. “Where the bloody hell did you get that?” he exclaimed.

 

“Ah, well…” Pete sounded guilty. “As it turns out, my suspicions about the contents of Keith Moon’s guest room nightstands were correct.”

 

Roger hissed as Pete’s finger breached his entrance and sunk into him. “You are so fucking tight,” Pete whispered. He pushed in deeper and grazed Roger’s prostate.

 

“Pete!” Roger cried. “Oh, God, I need more, Pete.”

 

“Patience, I’m going to do this right this time.” So Roger hadn’t been the only one thinking of ’63. With agonizing slowness, Pete worked another finger into Roger and began to scissor against his tight muscles. Meanwhile, Robert had renewed the vigor with which he was sucking Roger’s cock. The double onslaught of sensation was nearly too much for him, he could feel his release building in the depths of his groin. He nearly sobbed with the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

 

“Fuck, Pete, if you don’t fuck me right now…” he growled.

 

“Well, since you ask so nicely.” Roger felt the blunt tip of Pete’s cock nudging against him and he choked out a cry and grabbed the back of Robert’s head and thrust fully down his throat. Pete entered him with a measured but unrelenting stroke and then paused to recover himself. “You feel so fucking, bleedin’ good.”

 

Pete began to move, drawing louder and louder screams from Roger as every thrust hit that sweet spot relentlessly. “I can’t…I need…oh!” Roger panted, dimly wondering how Robert was still managing to do more than just hold on while he drove into his mouth.

 

“You are breathtaking, you terrible temptress. I can’t possibly get enough of you,” Pete murmured, throatily against his ear. The words were enough to send Roger over the brink that had been looming for so long, one last scream echoing in the dark room. His orgasm seemed to seize every muscle in his body as he poured himself into Robert. Through the black mist over his vision, he saw the other singer’s throat working to swallow all of him. It was unbearably hot. He tightened around Pete as he came and that was enough to push his bandmate to completion.

 

“Roger!” Pete called and with a final thrust that sent him reeling, emptied himself out deep within Roger.

 

Roger closed his eyes briefly, trying to pull the shattered pieces of his emotions together as Pete collapsed to his side and buried his face in Roger’s hair. He didn’t think that he had ever come so hard in his life. He opened his eyes again to find himself staring into the wicked blue depths of Robert Plant’s eyes. He smiled a slow, cock-sure smile, the corners of his mouth curling deviously.

 

“I know how you can occupy yourself while you recover,” he smirked. Roger looked down at the other man’s straining erection. He wasn’t sure how Robert could be lying there so calmly, head propped up on his hand, while his cock was dripping in anticipation.

 

“I..” he stammered, nervously.

 

Robert pulled him into a gentle and yet thorough kiss that took what remained of Roger’s breath away. “Don’t worry, love, you will do fine.” His face broke out in that dazzling smile once more, “You might even enjoy yourself.”

 

Robert fell back onto his back, grasped Roger’s head between his hands and coaxed him down into his lap. Roger was once again surrounded by the scent of the other man; at once smoky and spicy with growing hints of sweat and the tangy, masculine smell of arousal. He hesitantly licked a long line up Robert’s inner thigh and was rewarded with a heady groan. He cradled Robert’s balls in one hand while teasing his long cock with small licks and nibbling kisses. By the sounds the other man was making, he was on the right track. Roger was surprised at just how arousing those sounds were, incredibly he felt his own cock stir, not five minutes after he thought he had given everything he had to give.

 

Suddenly, the sounds were cut off and Roger looked up to see Pete bent over the other singer, kissing him forcefully before moving down his neck and swirling his tongue around one of Robert’s hardened nipples. Roger gasped at the sight, as Robert threw his head back against the bed and cried out in a voice that Roger recognized from “Whole Lotta Love.” _I wonder what they have to do to him in the studio to get those sounds,_ Roger thought before he could stop himself. Robert bucked upward, sensing perhaps that Roger’s mind was wandering from the task at hand.

 

With one last swipe of his tongue to the underside of Robert’s cock, Roger slowly took the entire length of him into his mouth. He could feel the other man holding himself taut and allowing Roger time to relax his throat enough to take more of him in. Roger brought his other hand up and wrapped it tightly around the base of Robert’s erection, remembering vaguely that no woman had ever done this _hard_ enough to suite him.

 

“Oh, sweet,” Robert whined with a rush of exhaled breath. “Yes…like that. Ah, bloody hell, do you know what you do to me?” Roger pressed his tongue to that exquisitely sensitive spot on the underside of Robert’s head and sucked as hard as he could. “Fuck, Roger, that is perfect. God, I love your mouth. I thought I might.”

 

“And they say I talk too much,” Roger heard Pete hiss before Robert’s voice was replaced by low moaning and the sound of tongue wrestling with tongue.

 

Whatever Pete thought, the verbal encouragement was having an effect on Roger. He pulled away long enough to gasp for air and shove his hair out of his face before returning to Robert in earnest. He bobbed up and down on the other man’s cock, rhythmically fondling his balls and keeping a firm hand at the root of his erection. It was enough to break Robert’s control and he began to thrust into Roger’s throat with increasing speed as Pete pinned his upper torso to the bed with his hands on Robert’s shoulders and his merciless kiss.

 

At the last moment, Pete pulled away to look down at Roger and Robert came with a chorus of lilting, moaning cries. He demonstratively proved that he poured only a fraction of his passion out on stage. Roger fought to stay in control as the man bucked and emptied out his completion into the back of his throat. The smell of him pushed Roger to near hardness once more as the animal muskiness intensified. _Jesus, he is going to draw an audience if he keeps on like that._

 

“Are you quite done?” Pete asked, a touch of irritation creeping into his voice.

 

Robert’s eyes opened the narrowest of slits and the moonlight glinted off of them. “Almost,” he whispered huskily and renewed his grasp on Roger’s hair and thrust once more. Roger eagerly swallowed the last of his come as his final cry rang in both of their ears.

 

Roger drew away and he saw Robert shudder as Roger’s warmth left him. Roger crawled up the bed and shyly lay down next to Robert, one arm cast over his broad chest and his head resting on Robert’s shoulder. Robert brought his arm around Roger and twined his fingers into the hair at the base of his head. Pete was lying on his back on the other side of Robert, watching the two blonds in a sidelong glance.

 

Robert took a deep breath and ran his free hand through his hair, darkened to deep honey with sweat. Then he got up slightly on his side and softly touched Roger’s ass. For a moment, everyone was still, Robert humming some strange melody, Roger thinking of the bitter and yet strangely alluring taste of Robert on his tongue and Pete watching. Then, Robert’s cock twitched and swelled slightly.

 

 “You can’t possibly be ready again,” Pete exclaimed, absently fisting his own returning erection.

 

“Mmm,” Robert thrummed, lustily, all but licking his lips as he stroked Roger’s backside. “I’ve been saving up for this one.”

 

“I want his mouth,” Pete returned and the hunger in his voice made Robert’s cock unfurl even more.

 

“At the same time?”

 

“You know I am right here,” Roger mumbled into Robert’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, yes, love, we can’t help but notice. That is why we are discussing which lovely parts of you we would most like to shove our cocks. Visual aid and all that.” Roger shivered at Robert’s words. “How about it then?” Robert asked, tilting Roger’s head up for a quick kiss. Roger nodded mutely.

 

 Robert got up on his knees and grasped Roger’s hips to maneuver him into a good position. Pete knelt in front of him and pulled his head onto his lap, stroking his curls lightly. Roger felt the other man’s finger press at him probingly, finding him relaxed and still smeared with Pete’s come. Roger felt a passing twinge of shame, but Robert smirked, “Debauched is a good look for you, Roger.”

 

Robert rubbed the length of cock against Roger’s crack. Roger gasped and pushed back against him. “Hmm, do you want it, Roger? Do you want Robert high and mighty Plant to fuck your delicious little arse?”

 

Roger heard the amusement in his voice mixed with desire and he couldn’t help himself. “Oh God, yes… please, Robert.”

 

Robert buried himself in Roger without warning, leaving them both gasping for air. Pete took his chance and thrust himself into his singer’s open mouth, driving down his throat with an aggressiveness that left Roger choking and eyes watering. “Sweet mother of Jesus, your arse feels good,” Robert cried. “I am going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

 

Robert proceeded to make good on his promise. Each stroke forced Roger more firmly onto Pete, He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t breath because of the cock down his throat or because in the onslaught of feeling, he had simply forgotten to. Pete grabbed fistfuls of his hair and started fucking his mouth in sincere effort. _I will be lucky if I have any hair left after this night._ The two musicians timed their rhythms perfectly, each amplifying the effort of the other.

 

Robert was relentless. His nails dug deeper into Roger’s hips with every thrust, the pain melding with the pleasure until they were indistinguishable. His balls and thighs slapped against Roger, the sound combining with the heavy breathing and gasping sobs that filled the room. If the previous attempts had been exercises in finessed technique, then this was pure, raw fucking, two rutting men and one willing vessel.

 

Robert was hitting Roger’s prostate with uneven regularity so that his release built and came crashing down, forever denying him the momentum to come without a hand on him. He tried to concentrate instead on the feel of Pete’s heavy length on his tongue, pressing at the back of his throat, the heady, animal smell of him.

 

It was Pete that faltered first, his second completion coming more slowly but stronger than the first. His salty seed flooded Roger’s mouth and he barely needed to swallow due to the distance Pete had driven himself down Roger’s throat. He came shaking and silent and seeing him, Robert dug his nails in even harder and delivered a powerful set of thrusts that had Roger feeling as if he would be rent in two.

 

Finally he collapsed on top of Roger who fell to the mattress with an oomph of surprise. The other man shuddered out his finale, unmoving except the pulsing of his cock. Sensation seemed heightened painfully for Roger as those small movements inside him felt more intense than all the wild thrusting. Moments passed as the three gradually quieted their racing hearts. Robert rolled off of Roger, both of them groaning at the loss.

 

“Ooh, that was brilliant,” Robert gasped. “I think I love you both.” And with that the fair haired beauty promptly passed out in a pile of curls, sweat and tangled sheets.

 

Roger pulled himself slowly to his knees and looked over at Pete. The guitarist was reclined, his upper torso supported by the headboard. His sapphire eyes were hooded and he looked the definition of well fucked. He smiled slowly and managed to leer at Roger’s fully erect cock. “Haven’t managed to wear you out yet, Dip?”

 

“Fuck, what did I say about that bloody…”

 

In answer, Pete simply spread his legs open. Roger trailed off as his attention was caught by the sight of Pete laid out open for him. His eyes flicked back up to his bandmate’s face. There was no trace of condescension or envy or even the frightened aloof pride that usually held them apart. Pete was finally ready to surrender and, in doing so, found that it was no surrender after all.

 

Roger reached for the lube that Pete had left on the nightstand. He pressed Pete’s legs to his chest with one forearm while massaging the lube into Pete’s cleft with the other. Pete held Roger’s eyes, his lips parting in an almost inaudible moan as Roger found his entrance and rubbed the length of his finger against the firm, puckered opening.

 

He guided himself to the entrance, suddenly feeling clumsy with nerves. “Do it, Roger, I need you so much,” Pete gritted out.

 

Roger pushed in, but could instantly tell it was too much, too fast. Pete hissed with pain and seized up around Roger.

 

“Oh shit, Pete, I’m sorry…”

 

“No, it’s fine…just hold on a sec.” Pete took a couple deep breaths through his nose. “You are just rather large, lover.”

 

The sound of that word on Pete’s lips was too good. He couldn’t help pulling out slightly and pushing back in. Pete threw his head back and lifted his hips, deepening the thrust. The sensation of Pete could finally make its way to Roger’s brain and he was vaguely shocked to find that it felt incredible.

 

Pete was unbelievably warm and tight, tighter than any woman he had had. A hot, clenching force seemed to drag him in and soon he was helplessly thrusting into Pete with abandon.

 

Roger couldn’t last long. The feeling was too new, too fucking _good_ for that.

 

“Pete, I’m going to…” Roger cried, his eyes screwed shut in concentration.

 

Pete tightened his muscles, making Roger gasp and pushing him that much closer to the edge. “Come for me, Roger,” he called, panting.

 

For once, Roger obeyed and as the sweet, warm darkness rose up to meet his falling body, he thought, _maybe I can sleep forever and not have to face these two in the morning._


End file.
